Jacqueline Druga - Omnicide

No one told her to give up. Cass certainly wouldn’t. She supposed she wanted to find that hope as well.

A hiss of static caused everyone to jump. It was followed by Kit’s voice.

“Griffin, this is Modine.”

His voice was a little distorted and soft.

Mark dove for the radio. “We can barely hear you,” Mark said. “You must be close.”

There as a pause, then static. “Three miles. I’ll radio when I can.”

“Be careful.”

“Roger that,” Kit said. “Out.”

Mark held on to the radio for a few moments, then set it down and slowly turned around. “He’s almost in Seaver.”

“We heard,” Cass replied. “And… we’ll know soon enough.”

“Yep,” Mark said. “We’ll know if anyone else is out there.”

“God.” Cass closed her eyes. “Let’s hope.”

Her eyes immediately popped wide open and she spun in her chair when Lena shrieked out excitedly.

“Oh my God.” Lena stood up. “This is Lena Feeny. Is that really you, Trixie?”

Cass was in shock, and hopeful… Lena had reached someone. Now all they needed to know was where.

Seaver, AZ

Anxiety swelled within his being the second he saw Hillbilly Jim’s truck. Things were just worse when he saw the birds, each of them showing signs of being infected by the fungus.

Where was everyone? Had they all gotten so sick, that they went back to their homes?

More than likely that was the case.

He thought of those in Griffin, the women who innocently had their nails done only to be contaminated by Patty.

The rash began on the hands of each of them. The ones with more complicated nails had it the worst. It spread from there. Some of Ada’s tinctures slowed down the progress, but whether it was too late when they found them or not, bottom line… the tinctures only slowed down the inevitable death.

His first thought was to radio, but he knew he needed some answers. He wanted more than anything to find out why everyone just left. That wasn’t the case. They hadn’t left at all.

In a deep loud, booming voice, he called out, “Anyone there? Is anyone in Seaver? Hello!”

He walked slowly down the street avoiding the bird carcasses, stopping in front of the police station.

Hating to do it, and fearful of what he would see, he walked in.

Immediately the smell of death and decomposition hit him. His paper mask did nothing to block it. He brought the back of his hand under his nose and turned his head with a wince. When he did that he cringed, thinking, Son of a bitch, I touched that door handle . And he recalled Art telling him not to touch his face. He hoped if anything was on his gloved hand, it didn’t slip through the fibers of the mask.

But that cringe and wince brought him an answer, the fate and whereabouts of the Chief of Police of Griffin.

Kit didn’t see him at first when he walked in, but there he was on his side, lying on the reception area couch. His arm dangled, clutching a blood-stained wastepaper basket next to him. Kit turned and didn’t have to walk far to see not only the sheriff, but two other Seaver officers. All at their desks, heads down, each with a phone to their ear.

Kit could only imagine they were trying desperately to call for help.

He didn’t need to see the others to know that Seaver was dead.

Perhaps he would drive through town, using the PA just to call in case someone had beaten it.

He left the police station and saw him as soon as he stepped outside.

The sight of the man standing across the street caused a stir in Kit. The man wasn’t from Seaver, or at least Kit didn’t think so. He wore a biohazard suit, but he wore it without the hood or gloves. He carried a case in one hand, in the other a duffle bag.

“I heard you calling,” he said with a British accent. “It’s fine. You don’t need the mask. The spores and fungus are inactive.”

“How do you know?” Kit asked.

“I checked. I have been here since early this morning. It’s been long enough.” He stepped to Kit. “Niles Proctor.”

“Kit Modine. So… where is everyone?” Kit asked. “Have you looked?”

“Yes, in their homes or the Urgent Care. You name a place in town, you’ll find them. No survivors, despite them trying.”

“Do you think they know what happened?” Kit asked.

“Without a doubt. About two hours after the blanket extermination, authorities were urging people to get inside, stay inside, seal up for a day. But… they had already been exposed. From what I could tell, it entered the blood stream within minutes and their fate was sealed.”

“How did you survive?” Kit asked.

Niles ran his hand down his suit. “I was in a sealed lab and wore this when out for the first thirty-six hours. I knew it was coming. Our team all divided up, trying to get to safe areas. I didn’t want to run, not without seeing if there was some way I could help.”

“Did you?”

“In a way. I found something in the restaurant.” He raised the duffle bag. “Seems some sort of camera crew was in town. The camera was actually out and in the hand of one of the men. It’s broken, but I’m sure we can retrieve footage from the hard drive or insert drive. Whoever it was filmed the last days of Seaver.”

Kit exhaled heavily, there was something about hearing those words that saddened him even more. “Where are you headed now?”

“My final destination. This was my last stop.”

“And where would that be?” Kit asked.

“Griffin.”

Kit only nodded once. Somehow, hearing that from Niles didn’t surprise him at all.

Los Angeles, CA

Trixie Powers for the most part led a life of leisure. She’d skyrocketed to fame after a sex video of her and a famous rock star leaked online. It wasn’t her doing, but she was glad. One four-minute video of shame for a life of fame was worth it.

Her social media profiles had a combined following of close to twenty million people, which really was nothing compared to a lot of people she knew and was friends with.

When she had returned from a night of partying, she’d staggered into her bedroom holding a just opened bottle of champagne. She’d given strict instructions that she didn’t want to be disturbed and to let her sleep until she woke up; a message for the cleaning lady who came in on Mondays to leave her room be, and one for her personal assistant who seemed to always be annoyingly opening her blinds at eight a.m.

She’d had a hard night. Arguing with a friend and being seen by the paparazzi. She had to defend her actions on social media, then immediately issue an apology for being insensitive.

She was worn out.

Before going to bed, she grabbed a bottle of water from the little fridge in her bedroom minibar, placed it on her nightstand with three ibuprofen, and then after chugging some champagne, she fell asleep.

When Trixie woke, she did as she always did: sat up, swiped up the ibuprofen and water, then lifted her phone as she swallowed the pills.

She first noticed the time of two p.m., but the alert of the message from Anita, her assistant, caught her attention.

“DO NOT LEAVE THE ROOM OR HOUSE.” It said more, but she had to unlock it to read the whole thing. Clearly it was some sort of joke, Trixie thought. Then she read the message.

“DO NOT LEAVE THE ROOM OR HOUSE. The mass pred bug extermination went bad. It’s killing people. Do not leave your room until you know it’s safe.”

Immediately, she replied, “Where are you?”

“Home,” came the reply.

“Is this for real?” asked Trixie.

“Yes,” replied Anita. “The news is still on for now. They just issued the warning. Before I left your house, I put a towel under the sill of your door. Stay safe.”